


Twelve Days of Grimmsmas

by KitsJay



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, kinkmeme fill, so hey guess what I was the Christmas anon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsJay/pseuds/KitsJay
Summary: Monroe is a Christmas freak. Nick doesn't know how many more days of this he can take.





	Twelve Days of Grimmsmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the Grimm kinkmeme.

_On the first day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… a cableknit monstrosity!_

It was a monstrosity of epic proportions. Of all the things Nick had seen, it was the worst: eyes staring at him from its hideous flat visage, a nose that protruded out and was shiny and red, and worst of all, bells that actually jingled on its antlers.

Monroe swallowed his bagel. “What?”

“What are you wearing?” Nick asked, creeping around the countertops so that he never let his eyes off of it. It was like looking at a trainwreck. A cableknit trainwreck in the shape of Rudolph.

“This?” Monroe looked pleased. “Isn’t it something else?”

“Yes,” Nick agreed cautiously. “It certainly is.”

Monroe beamed.

_On the second day of Christmas, blutbad gave to me… two cheesy movies!_

Nick groaned almost silently, but of course, Monroe’s keen ears picked up on it.

“What?”

“Again?” Nick said, gesturing to the TV screen, where the schmaltzy tune of Miracle on 34th Street began playing. “Haven’t you seen this a million times already?”

“It’s a good movie!” Monroe protested.

Nick kept quiet, but couldn’t help thinking that it was a good movie… the first dozen times. It still beat It’s a Wonderful Life though. If he had to watch that one again, he was going to throw himself off a bridge.

_On the third day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… three power bills!_

“Monroe! Monroe!” Nick called from the kitchen without looking up from the electricity bill. Monroe poked his head in and, seeing Nick’s thunderous expression, tried to sneak out. “Get in here!”

“Yes?”

“Have you seen the power bill?” Monroe fidgeted, which Nick took as a yes. “This is insane! They had to separate it into three parts just to fit all of the charges! You have got to take some of those lights down or something.”

“It’ll be fine,” Monroe said, walking up and planting a kiss on Nick’s forehead. “It’s just for another month.”

Just one more month of Christmas madness. Nick didn’t know if he could take it.

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… four talking Santas!_

“There’s an animatronic Santa at the front door,” Nick said casually.

“There’s another one in the entryway. There is still another one in the living room, and I can see the one behind your back so quit trying to hide and explain to me why we have four talking Santas.”

“They’re fun,” Monroe said. He moved and the Santa’s sensors picked the motion up, bending at the waist in a soulless, awkward movement and shouting, “Ho ho ho” in a slurred mechanical voice.

“One, Monroe,” Nick said threateningly. “I will put up with one. And it better not be anywhere in the hallway or I will shoot it if it does that at night when I’m going to the restroom.”

 

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me…five woolen socks!_

 

"Monroe!" Nick called, his voice echoing in the dryer's cramped interior. He pulled his head out, nearly hitting his head on the top. "Have you seen my other sock?"

"What other sock?"

"I put three pairs of socks in. Ergo, I should have three pairs of socks that come out."

"That would follow, yes," Monroe agreed.

Nick held up five socks in his hands. "Then explain to me why I only have two and a half pairs in my hands."

Monroe shrugged. "Dryer elves?"

_On the sixth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me…six types of eggnog!_

There were glasses everywhere, filled with thick, milky yellow eggnog. Nick stared at the debris, and in the center of it, Monroe bustling around, whisking something in a bowl.

“Oh, hey, Nick,” he said, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of a storm of eggnog. “I’m making eggnog.”

“I can see that,” Nick said.

“I can’t decide which recipe to use. Try this one,” Monroe shoved a glass into his face and watched anxiously while Nick sipped it while trying very hard not to make a face.

Only a week to go, he thought as he swallowed one of his least favorite drinks, just make it through one more week.

_On the seventh day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… seven pans of gingerbread!_

“That’s…” Nick faltered, staring at the mass of gingerbread on the pans, “A lot of gingerbread.”

“This gingerbread house is going to be epic,” Monroe said, staring with unrestrained glee at the dark cookie. “I printed out some pdfs from the internet for a mansion and have twenty types of candy to decorate it with. I’ve just got to make the icing. Oh, and it’s going to have ironwork railings—"

Nick fled the kitchen, wondering if there was any paperwork he could do at the station. It was safer there.

_On the eighth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… eight spruce wreaths!_

“That’s the last one,” Nick said, climbing down the ladder and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. In addition to the wreaths hung on the front and back doors, there was also one on the main window in the living room, another acting as a centerpiece for the table, still another on the utility room door, and he had just spent an hour hanging three on the second story, proudly displaying the fact that apparently Monroe was completely insane.

“That one’s kind of crooked,” Monroe said, gesturing to the one that Nick nearly broke his neck trying to hang. “Are you sure you can’t—“ At Nick’s baleful look, he hastily said, “You know what, I’ll fix it later.”

“Good plan.”

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… nine boxes of ornaments!_

“It’s going to be hell lugging all these back up when Christmas is done with,” Nick muttered. There were unopened boxes everywhere, containing garish garlands and shiny, tacky ornaments, and tall peppermint canes meant to line the sidewalk. He stared at the mess with disbelief. How one person could amass so many decorations was beyond him.

“Good thing I have you, then,” Monroe said cheerfully, opening one of the boxes and pulling out a train set. “I hated bringing them all down by myself every year.”

_On the tenth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… ten delicious cookies!_

“Are you sure there’s enough food?” Nick said, nibbling on a cookie. He said it facetiously, since half the kitchen was covered in cookies of every shape, kind, and lovingly decorated with colored icing, but Monroe looked around anxiously.

“Should I make more?”

Nick didn’t answer, just shook his head and walked out, listening as he heard the faint sounds of Monroe pulling out even more ingredients. Maybe he could bring some in to work for the other guys, or else they were going to be eating cookies until next Christmas.

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… eleven strings of lights!_

“I hate these things!” Nick shouted in frustration. The string of lights remained unrepentant from the floor.

Monroe poked his head in and caught Nick’s annoyed look. He winced sympathetically. “Bulb go out?”

“Yes. But right now I can’t even untangle them all from each other.” Nick leaned against the wall and glared at the wad of green cord with colorful bulbs staring back at him. “They’re impossible. It’s like untangling the Gordian knot.”

“It just takes patience,” Monroe said, settling down cross-legged on the floor to coax the lights into some semblance of order.

Nick crossed his arms. “Or a good pair of scissors.”

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, my blutbad gave to me… twelve mistletoe kisses!_

“Mmm,” Nick said, caught unaware by Monroe grabbing him and hauling him back under the threshold of the door. Their lips met in a sweet, almost chaste kiss, and Nick’s arms wrapped around Monroe’s neck to hold him closer.

Monroe released him, pointing up. Nick followed his finger to see mistletoe hanging there.

“I count twelve sprigs up there,” Nick commented casually.

“Guess I’ll just have to kiss you twelve times then,” Monroe said, pulling him back into his embrace.

As Nick stood there, wrapped in Monroe’s arms and feeling content and warm, he thought that maybe he could get used to this whole Christmas thing.

Although he was still stuffing that sweater into the garbage disposal as soon as Monroe turned his back.


End file.
